


You Don't Give A Damn What I Do To You

by PosseMagnet



Series: Bad Boys Get Spanked [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable Sam Winchester, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Belts, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam Winchester, Choking, Come Eating, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Felching, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Gentle Dean Winchester, Incest, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, No Lube, Outdoor Sex, Restraints, Rimming, Sad Sam Winchester, Sibling Incest, Smut, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Sub Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PosseMagnet/pseuds/PosseMagnet
Summary: It didn’t take long for Dean to feel at home in the bunker. On the other hand, Sam never really felt like anywhere was home.





	You Don't Give A Damn What I Do To You

It didn’t take long for Dean to feel at home in the bunker. Maybe because he’d subconsciously been looking for a home since he was chased out of his first home at the tender age of four, maybe it was because a life lived hunting had trained him to make _anywhere_ home. Either way, once the brothers discovered the bunker, in the time it took him to get a fitted sheet smoothed onto his memory foam mattress, he was home.

 

On the other hand, Sam never really felt like anywhere was home. Not even Stanford, where he’d had his own room, bed, and schedule. The bunker felt cold and claustrophobic. And it felt like Dean was a million miles away anytime they weren’t in the same room. Sharing a bedroom was out of the question because there was no way two super-sized Winchester men could share a twin bed without killing each other. After a careful check of each of the dozens upon dozens of bedrooms, Sam didn’t find one that was large enough to accommodate a king-sized bed.

 

Dean started to regret the decision to move into the bunker. Sam had been excited about the library, sure, but he’d been broody and sullen from the moment they parked the Impala in the spacious Men of Letters garage. Dean had begun to seriously consider leaving the bunker and taking to the road again, living out of the car and cheap motels like they’d always done. He was reluctant to give up the luxuries the bunker afforded them, their own beds, a restaurant-sized kitchen, and endless hot water for their showers, but for Sammy, he’d do it. Watching Sam slowly wilt was killing him.

 

Then one morning, as Sam left at an ungodly early hour for a run, he stumbled on a lush, green clearing. It was surrounded by trees, but clear of them, so the sun shone in, bright and persistent. So instead of being covered with leaves, and pine needles, like the rest of the woods around the bunker, this was open and alive. The grass was same verdant green as Dean’s eyes.

 

This little plot of ground, maybe 25 feet of sun-soaked ground in either direction before the woods choked it off, gave Sam new purpose. Dean found him in the library one day, nose buried in a book about gardening. He was trying to find the best vegetables to grow in northern Kansas.

 

With a sarcastic snort (and secret relief beating hot in his veins) Dean says, “Man, you’ll nerd out for anything, won’t ya?”

 

Sam doesn’t even waste an eye roll on the teasing.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is mindlessly bored. They’re between cases and he’s restless, nosing around the bunker looking for something to pique his interest. He’d washed all the cars and motorcycles in the garage (twice), there was no more laundry to do, every piece of busy work he could think of, was already… well… _done_.

 

Soon he found his way outside. Wandering through the woods, he searches for Sam. He must be out here working on his Dork Garden of Eden, since Dean hadn’t seen him in one of his many circuits around around the bunker.

 

He almost trips over the bench.

 

“What the fuck?” he squawks at the inanimate bench, flailing his arms a little so he doesn’t overbalance and tip right over the back of the damn thing.

 

He’s still scowling at the furniture when he hears Sam chuckling. “Watch out, Dean’” he snorts, “Don’t let it bite you.”

 

“Fuck you, smart ass,” he barks. “Why is there a fucking park bench in my woods?”

 

“Dean, they’re _our_ woods,” Sam reminds him gently, “And I put the bench out here so I’d have a place to sit and read.”

 

Dean finally notices the clearing _beyond_ the bench. It’s been tilled into neatly precise rows. And in these perfect rows grow a lush green assortment of veggies. There’s vines of fat green tomatoes, standing tall and upright in cages. A thick carpet of vines, Dean isn’t sure what’s under the umbrella of leaves: cucumber, squash, watermelon, it could honestly be anything. Potato plants grow up through tall stacks of worn tires. And there’s peppers of every variety, bell, jalapeno, and a tiny red variety that looks small, shriveled, and _mean_.

 

He stands there, mouth agape, for longer than he intends to, and Sam’s up, out of the dirt, and beside him by the time he discovers his mouth is opening and closing like a gasping fish, and he snaps it shut with an audible “click” of teeth.

 

“Oh. My. God.” Dean clips each word off abruptly. “You really _are_ a huge nerd.”

 

“It’s a garden, Dean,” Sam says, both defensive and sarcastic. “It’s not like I memorized every episode of Game of Thrones.” He gives Dean a poke.

 

“Dude. Game of Thrones is cool,” Dean says, “There’s boobs. And dragons. This is so… NOT cool. And there’s… Are those tiny fucking _tomatoes_?”

 

Sam’s brow creases with a scowl. “They’re cherry tomatoes, Dean. They’re good in salads.” He puts the trowel he’s holding down on the bench, and walks around to the row of tomatoes and picks up a big bin, full of fresh, green tufted carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes. Sam dips a hand into the tub, shuffles a few garden tools around, and pulls out a few cherry tomatoes and hands them to Dean. “Eat,” he orders.

 

Dean gives the tomatoes a withering look of disdain, before popping a few into his mouth with palpable reluctance. The skeptical crinkles in his forehead slowly smooth as he chews. He hums his approval as he swallows Sam’s tomatoes.

 

“Okay, these goofy little tomatoes aren’t horrible, but look at this,” Dean says, sweeping his arm in a broad gesture at the clearing. “This is ridiculous. Do you want fairies? Because this is how you get fairies.”

 

A smile spreads across Sam’s face and he breaks out into laughter. It spreads and swells into a full body laugh, rocking him on his feet. He stumbles around to sit on the bench. Dean sits next to him with an eyeroll. Sam is still chuckling, and he swipes a dirt dusted hand across his face to wipe away tears, leaving a streak of grime across the perfect tan of his sharp cheekbone.

 

Dean reaches up in an involuntary gesture to wipe at the messy streak that mars his brother’s skin. Sam’s skin is sun warmed, damp with sweat, and slightly gritty from the layer of dirt. His eyes flutter shut as Dean brushes at his cheek, he hums softly, deep in his throat.

 

He’s unsurprised when he feels the brush of Dean’s plump lips on his, his brother’s tongue skating over his bottom lip. Strong hands wind into his hair, tugging gently, until goosebumps race over his scalp and chest, making his nipples (and his cock too, if he’s being honest) leap to attention.

 

“Dean, ‘m all dirty,” he mumbles when Dean’s deft fingers work Sam’s elastic-waisted shorts down his long legs, stripping his sneakers off at the same time

 

“Yeah, you are,” Dean whispers back. “You’re a very,” he licks into Sam’s mouth, “Dirty,” lick, “Boy,” lick, “and I’m going to fuck my dirty boy, right here, in his very dirty garden.”

 

Sam finally opens his eyes and sees Dean kneeling in the dirt in front of him. Using his grip on Sam’s long hair he guides his brother to his knees as well. Dean pulls hard on Sam’s hair, exposing a long expanse of tan neck, where he hungrily bites marks until Sam sways on his knees, groaning Dean’s name.

 

Dean’s fingers curl into the hem of Sam’s sweaty tee shirt and pull it up over his brother’s head. Instead of pulling it all the way off, Dean doubles it up around Sam’s wrists, binding them tight together in front of him. The muscles in Sam’s chest jump and twitch when he pulls against his bonds. A low groan rumbles out of him when his restraints tighten even more with his movements.

 

“Dean, fuck,” he whispers, panting.

 

“Mmm, is that good, Sammy?” Dean growls into his ear. “I’m just getting started,” he purrs as he unbuckles his belt.

 

Dean stands, stripping his t-shirt off. Sam starts to stand as well, and Dean shakes his head, making an _uh-unh_ noise, which makes Sam fall obediently back to his knees. Dean steps back to sit on the bench, stripping off his boots, then the rest of his clothes. He stands, wearing nothing but the kiss of freckles across pale skin. His belt in hand, he beckons Sam to kneel in front of him.

 

Shuffling forward on his knees, Sam’s eyes are on Dean’s cock, jutting thick and heavy from a nest of gingery pubes. Saliva floods Sam’s mouth when a gleaming drop of precome curls out of his slit, and trails down the underside of the glans, where Sam knows from experience a little extra pressure with his tongue makes Dean curse and buck into his mouth.

 

Dean clears his throat theatrically loud. Sam’s eyes snap back up to his face, and Dean is smirking. Sam’s cheeks color a deep, embarrassed pink at being so easily distracted by his brother’s body after all these years.

 

“Here,” Dean says firmly, pointing to the candy-soft grass directly in front of him.

 

Shuffling forward until he’s where Dean pointed, Sam sits back on his calves, bound hands resting on his strong thighs, and looks up at his brother. The sunlight turns his every-color fox eyes into translucent stained glass, and for a second he’s so beautiful it makes Dean a little spinny in the head.

 

Dean lovingly skritches along Sam’s scalp with his blunt nails. Sam hums and leans into the touch, letting his eyes drift shut. When Dean’s hand disappears he waits, patient and trusting, eyes closed, relaxed and alert all at the same time.

 

He hears the jingle of Deans belt buckle, then he feels the soft touch of the thick leather loop around his throat. He groans when it squeezes around his neck, and his eyes fly open when Dean snugs it constrictor-tight. His breath speeds when he sees Dean studying him, lust-blown green eyes, and plump bottom lip pulled between perfect white teeth.

 

“Put your hands on my leg, Sammy,” Dean purrs in his gravel-kissed voice. Sam obeys without hesitation or question. Once his long-fingered hands grip his brother’s strong thigh, Dean continues.

 

“I’m going to choke you,” Dean informs him. Sam can’t help the goosebumps that fly over his skin, or the precome that blurts out of his cock, smearing on his stomach with a dirty wet splat when his dick jumps, making him groan. Dean grins wickedly down at him. “You like that, don’t you, baby boy?” he asks, and continues, not waiting for an answer. “If I don’t let up soon enough, and you need to breathe, you tap my thigh. Okay?”

 

Sam nods, and taps Dean’s thigh to show him everything was copacetic, and he understood what was expected of him.

 

“Good boy,” Dean praises. “Now open,” he instructs, pulling at Sam’s plump bottom lip.

 

With a softly audible _pop_ , Sam’s mouth drops open, his tongue darts out to lick his lips, then settling enticingly over his bottom lip.

 

“Take a deep breath,” Dean tells him. As soon as Sam fills his lungs he pulls his grip on the belt off to the side, tightening the loop around his brothers throat he watches the color nearly disappear out of Sam’s eyes when his pupils blow big with lust. Dean runs a hand up his cock starting at the base, to milk out a slow drool of precome he drizzles onto his brother’s waiting tongue. Sam’s tongue darts back into his mouth to savor the salty tang of his big brother, but there is precious little time to enjoy the taste because Dean’s flushed, ruddy cockhead is chasing Sam’s retreating tongue.

 

Sam’s mouth floods with saliva, slicking the slide of Dean’s cock over his tongue. Resistance is met at the back of Sam’s throat, but Dean pushes right past it, deep into the constricted confines of his little brother’s throat.

 

Dean groans long and deep, rolling his hips to push himself as far into the fitted, fluttering, velvety heat as he can. “Fuck, Sammy,” he exclaims breathlessly, “Shit, that’s good stuff. So tight for me. So good. Made to take my cock, not even choking on it. Jesus, _fuck_ ,” he gasps when Sam’s throat flexes around his length.

 

He pulls out until the head of his dick is resting against Sam’s tongue, swollen, flushed and gleaming with spit. He loosens the belt so Sam can gulp in a breath before he tightens it once more.

 

The wide leather belt has the effect of a posture collar, keeping the elegantly long column of Sam’s neck primly straight. A tunnel of wet warmth that makes a perfect sheath for a thrusting cock, and Sam’s eyes water as Dean speeds his pace, fucking into the heat of his brother’s open, willing throat. The belt constricts the slick channel, and Dean could happily cry tears of utter devotion and dedicate every drop to Sammy. Instead, he comes, buried deep inside the secret heat of Sam’s throat. His cock swells and jerks in time with the punched-out grunts of his orgasm.

 

He loosens the belt while he’s still inside of Sam, so his brother feels every inch of his cock pulling out of his well-used throat. The last few spurts of come land like dirty white pearls on his brother’s tongue and bottom lip.

 

A groan is the first post-choke noise Sam makes. He clears his throat, biting at Dean’s finger when he wipes at a milky drop of come on Sam’s lip.

 

A smirk settles on Dean’s face and he wiggles his thumb where it’s trapped ever so gently between Sam’s teeth. “Are you biting me?” he asks, with nothing in his tone but amusement.

 

Sam’s cheeky nod is paired with a swipe of tongue along the rough pad of Dean’s fingertip.

 

Dean chuckles darky as he wiggles his thumb out from between the younger man’s teeth. “Someone’s feeling saucy,” he remarks. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

 

He turns Sam, guiding his still bound hands to the front of his reading bench. Dean curls his fingers around Sam’s, so that Sam is stretched out, holding the front slat of the bench. He smooths a hand over the muscles in Sam’s back while he rummages through Sam’s tub of vegetables until he finds what he is looking for.

 

He traces the pointed tip of the trowel over Sam’s spine, making his brother jerk. Increasing the pressure over the meat of Sam’s ass it leaves a white trail where blood is pushed from the skin, and flushes red when the blood rushes back.

 

“Dean,” Sam rasps, pushing his ass into the air. He breathes out a hissed curse when Dean lightly slaps his upturned cheeks with the trowel. His quick, panted breaths are punctuated with a murmured, “Please, please, _please_.”

 

Digging the tip into flushed skin, Dean asks, “Please, what? What do you want, baby boy?”

 

“Please, Dean,” Sam begs in a rough voice, “S- _uuhh_ -spank me, please.” His voice breaks when Dean slaps him with the trowel again, a gentle strike that leaves behind a faint sting and a perfect, trowel-shaped mark.

 

“Oh, Sammy, you beg so pretty,” he delivers a light smack with each carefully enunciated word. “Almost as pretty as your ass looks when I smack it.” Here he delivers the first real blow with the trowel. A firm, unflinching strike that rolls over the meat of Sam’s round ass, like ripples in a pond.

 

“Ah, fuck, _yes_ ,” Sam cries, “Dean, please.”

 

Another smack to the opposite cheek, Dean rubs a rough hand over the pink marks, brushing away dirt that transferred from the trowel to Sam’s skin. “Mmm, Sammy,” Dean hums his appreciation, “So dirty.” Smack. Dean grins when Sam moans his name. “Filthy,” another slap and drawn out sound from Sam. “Yeah,” Dean snorts, “Filthy boy.” Smack.

 

Dean pauses to smooth gentle fingers over the steadily reddening skin. Sam whimpers, “Please, Dee.”

 

Dean smacks with his hand this time, “Please, what? Tell me what you want, baby boy.”

 

“Don’t stop,” Sam whines, “Please, don’t stop. Want _more_ , Dee.”

 

A dark chuckle and another smack, then Dean, “Oh, yeah, Sammy. Fucking _filthy_.” He slides his free hand between Sam’s hot cheeks to circle his asshole. It twitches when Dean smacks him again, and he slides a finger past the tight muscles.

 

Sam drops his head between his outstretched arms. He chants _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , over and over in a desperate whisper. His hips buck a little when Dean hawks and spits onto his hole, so he can sink two fingers into Sam. Dean spanks him again as he pushes those fingers deeper.

 

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean whistles in awe, “How can someone who gets pounded in the ass as often as you do—if I do say so myself— _still_ be so fucking _tight_?” Sam’s hole clenches around his fingers, making Dean groan loudly.

 

Pushing himself back onto Dean’s fingers, his back arches in shock when Dean smacks his ass with the trowel, hard this time. He sternly warns, “Be still, Sammy. I can tie up more than your arms if I have to.”

 

Sam whines a little, but gives a resigned bob of his head, and holds as still as he can for Dean. His hips still buck when Dean’s fingertips swipe over his prostate, but he can’t help that. His dick is leaking steadily into the soft grass below him, and his abs are smeared with precome, because his cock jerks right along with his hips at the touch of his brother’s talented fingers.

 

Sweat beads Sam’s forehead, soaking into his hair, leaving it hanging it wet hunks as he wipes his face on his bicep. He rests his head there for a second, trying to catch his breath. Then Dean kicks his legs farther apart. There’s a muffled thump when Dean tosses the trowel away.

 

Dean smooths a hand over Sam’s red, throbbing ass cheeks with an appreciative hum. “Mmm, that’s nice Sammy,” he teases, “Red really is your color.” He bends to swipe his tongue over the round globe of muscle he has gathered in his palm. Sam moans at the feeling, but it turns into a hiss when Dean drags his stubbly cheek over the sensitive skin of his sore ass cheek.

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam croaks, “Stop teasing.” He sounds tense, and impatient, and given the way his asshole sucks hungrily at his brother’s fingers, Dean reckons he probably is.

 

“Aww, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, “’M not teasing.” He spits between his fingers again and slips a third finger into his brother. “Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” He slaps his palm down hard onto Sam’s sensitive ass. “Want me to split this nice, red ass open on my big, fat cock?”

 

Sam’s just enough of a little brother that it crosses his mind for an instant to make a derisive comment about his brother’s dick, but that’s all forgotten when the blunt head of Dean’s cock presses in past the three fingers holding his rim open.

 

Dean pulls his fingers out all at once, and Sam’s asshole squeezes around the head of his cock so tight he curses. There’s no lube out here in the middle of the woods, and his spit only goes so far, so he pushes in slowly, letting Sam feel every raw inch of his dick, until his balls are pressed against Sam’s taint. He pulls out just as slow, giving Sam this last moment to adjust, because Dean is tired of _slow_.

 

Hips snap forward with an audible slap, making Sam’s back bow, and Dean fists a hand in his brother’s long locks and pulls, accentuating the perfect U-shape of his back.

 

Every few thrusts Dean slaps a hand down on his brother’s hot, red ass cheeks. Sam curses and whines, begging Dean for more. The older Winchester swipes his belt from the grass where he dropped it. It’s still looped from before, so he lassoes it around Sam’s neck again.

 

Sam’s bound arms are still outstretched. Still white-knuckle clutching the bench. Dean pulls him upright slowly, giving him a chance to pry his fingers loose, but once he’s upright Dean tightens the belt again. Sam’s ass clutches at him, his posture snapping straight, he pushes back into Dean.

 

Sam’s hands naturally fall to his cock. He wraps his fingers around it clumsily, and tries to stroke himself in desperation. Dean swiftly reaches around, bats Sam’s hands away from his painfully hard dick, and grabs a nipple between his fingers, twisting it hard.

 

He hisses in Sam’s ear, “’S the matter, Sammy? Can’t come on my cock? Big brother dick isn’t _good_ enough for you?” His brutal thrusts match the fire in his words. “Tough. Shit,” he spits, “If you can’t get off like this, you won’t get off at all.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but Sam nods anyway. His face is dark red when Dean releases the tension from the belt, counts to three in his head, and tightens it again after Sam sucks in chest expanding breath.

 

With an arm thrown around Sam’s chest, and the other in control of the belt, Dean gets lost in the rhythm of Sam’s breaths, and the _wettighthot_ clutch of Sam’s heartbeat around his cock.

 

Sam’s hands fly to grip Dean’s arm, squeezing tight. Dean asks, “Ready to come, Sammy? Wanna come for your big brother?” Sam nods, frantic, and Dean angles his hips, so each stroke draws heavy over Sam’s prostate.

 

Dean can tell Sam needs to breathe by the way his hole squeezes around the _pushpulldrag_ of Dean’s dick, the way his body trembles against his brother. “So close, little brother. Almost there,” Dean pants into Sam’s ear. Each syllable is punctuated with a rough thrust. Sam’s hands squeeze his brother’s forearm, and Dean purrs, “Now, Sammy. Come for me!”

 

At the first clench of Sam’s orgasm, Dean releases the belt, and pushes his brother forward, folding him over to gasp on the bench as he comes. After a handful of seconds Sam starts spilling hot splashes of come on the pristine, green grass. Sam is breathless, and his head spins as he replenishes his oxygen. It intensifies the orgasm thundering through him so that his cock bucks and kicks, slapping against his stomach with each fresh jet of come.

 

Sam is incapable of anything but pulling in deep whoops of air as Dean works him hard through his orgasm. Gradually peace returns to Sam’s body, the shockwaves subside, and his breathing quiets, except for the hoarse mutter of fuckfuck _fuck_ that coincides with the slap of Dean’s hips against his ass.

 

Dean groans, “Shit, Sammy. Gonna come.”

 

“Please, De- _e_ -an.”

 

“Want me to fill you up?” he teases. “Does my dirty boy want his big brother to come in his ass?”

 

“G- _guh_ -god, Dean,” Sam groan-stutters through his pleas, feeling strung out. Even though he had _just_ come, his cock is valiantly trying to harden again, because of his stupid, sexy, shithead brother and his awful-wonderful fucking _mouth_. “P- _uh_ - _luh_ -ease. Shit.”

 

With one last hard pull on Sam’s hips, Dean buries himself in Sam with a guttural groan. He unloads deep in his brother’s guts, his dick is so enthusiastic about the orgasm, come pushes out of his brother’s sloppy ass and trails down Sam’s taint. Dean throws in a few more oversensitive thrusts, making an even bigger mess of Sam's asshole.

 

With a hiss, Dean finally pulls out of his brother, both men are way past overstimulated, but Dean pries Sam’s cheeks apart and drags his tongue over Sam’s wrecked hole. He digs his fingers in to hold on tight because Sam starts bucking and thrashing and cursing at Dean to let him go already.

 

Sam doesn’t use his safe word though, he rarely does, so Dean guesses Sam can’t be _too_ uncomfortable, and dips his tongue past Sam’s rim, eliciting a whine, and quiet pleading noises from Sam.

 

Dean licks and sucks at Sam’s hole until the taste of his own come is gone and the taste of Sam is all that remains. By the time Dean is done, his scruff has turned Sam’s taint and ass cheeks a bright, angry looking cherry red which Dean soothes gently with his thumb.

 

Dean coaxes his brother to lie stomach-down on the soft green grass. He removes the belt from around Sam's neck and the tee shirt binding his wrists, and gently rubs the marks left by the soft fabric. He slowly moves up his brother’s arms all the way to his shoulders, until the tight muscles relax. He checks to make sure Sam’s red ass cheeks aren’t bleeding, and he finds some bruising, and several spots that sluggishly leak blood.

 

“Come on, Sammy,” he says, trying to pull Sam to his feet, “Need to get you inside to clean you up.”

 

“Nooo,” Sam grumbles into the grass, “’M fine, Dean. Le’s go in a minute. C’mere.” He pulls Dean down to him and nestles under his brother’s arm, pillowing his head on Dean’s chest and sleepily curling around the older Winchester.

 

Dean’s brow creases, “Sammy…” he begins, not ready to let this go yet.

 

“Shhh,” Sam shushes him gently, “Said ‘m okay. Wanna lay here for a while, I like it outside.”

 

“Well, I guess this grass _is_ pretty soft,” Dean reluctantly admits.

 

Sam stirs a little, so he can look up at his brother with his beautiful sunflower eyes, “Wanna know how I get it so soft?”

 

Dean considers the question for a second and finds himself deeply content knowing that Sam has finally found something that makes the bunker feel like home for him. He knows he’s willing to listen to Sam talk about this little glade for the rest of his life if it’s what his brother wants. But for now?

 

“Nah, Sammy. Later, okay? Right now, I just wanna enjoy the sun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Dirty White Boy_ by Foreigner


End file.
